


Immortalised

by Telas_Selar



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Amputee main character, Cigars, Cristóbal Rios Has Anxiety, Fluff, Gay S'vec Sylar, I know what the tags look like but I promise this is just a fluff-fest, Implied/Referenced Past Torture, Implied/Referenced Self Neglect, M/M, Married!Syrios, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild emotional hurt/comfort, Mutual Pining, Pansexual Cristóbal Rios, Smoking, Sylar is a slut, spanish language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telas_Selar/pseuds/Telas_Selar
Summary: Sylar beams down to a multicultural market to pick up a mysterious cargo. Meanwhile, Emil tries and fails to heal a restless Rios' most recent injury.
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cristobalrios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristobalrios/gifts).



The market was bustling with activity - hundreds of aliens from all over the galaxy huddled together in groups, conversing, hustling, selling almost everything under the sun, from coloured water rumoured to cure ailments faster than conventional medicine to armour rumoured to have been worn by the great Kahless himself in some ancient battle.

It was here, among the clamouring voices in a mixture of tongues only partially unknown to him, that S’vec Rios Sylar found himself, medkit and duffle bag slung over his shoulder, head bowed against a glaring sun which he could no longer consider welcoming even from behind the captain’s dark sunglasses, as he scanned the crowds for his contact.

Had the circumstances been different, the Vulcan would have at least allowed himself a cursory glance of his surroundings from sheer fascination, but as it were, such a bright and glaring sun made the act of keeping his damaged eyes open herculean. All he really wanted now was for his task here to be over, so that he could return to the ship - back to Rios, to his soft smile, his gentleness and warmth...to the familiar scent of his cigar smoke and the deliciously exotic alcoholic flavour of his lips.

Sylar felt his pale cheeks darken until they were the same shade of green as a Terran apple, but he was spared the need to reprimand himself for his momentary lapse in discipline when a multicoloured, clawed hand fell on his shoulder (a very curious hand it was, too, with seven fingers in swirling shades of blue, violet and teal.) Sylar hadn’t met anyone of this species before, but as he looked up to face his companion, he felt relief as he recognised his extremely late contact from the comms they had exchanged - Scaldran Cev'ox.

“Is it ready?” Sylar asked immediately, not one for idle conversation, and the alien produced a large crate, marked with the stamp used by the local merchants.

“Do you have the payment?” He countered slowly, and Sylar reached into his duffle bag to produce several small coins of surprising value.

“I trust this will be satisfactory” The Vulcan said, but Cev’ox, too busy counting the coins with a delighted look in his three eyes, did not answer, instead wordlessly holding out the box for Sylar to take.

Brow quirked up in mild amusement, Sylar obliged, carefully stepping to the side to tap his combadge for a beam-out.


	2. Chapter 2

“Please stay still, sir” Emil sighed as Cristóbal Rios shifted yet again, throwing the EMH’s efforts to heal his injured arm completely off-balance. “This would be a _whole_ lot easier if you stopped moving so much.”

 _“Joder lo que es fácil”_ Rios grumbled, turning in the direction of the transporter pad and putting his cigar between his lips again.

Emil resisted the urge to smile, just a bit, at how transparent the captain was being, and instead turned the regenerator back on so he could heal the first layer of skin, something he had been attempting and failing to do ever since Cris had nearly fried his arm working on the engine an hour ago.

“I don’t think he’ll be that long now, Captain” The EMH commented, but Cris ignored him, unblinkingly taking a puff of his cigar. He couldn’t care less about what Emil thought right now, not when he’d been separated from his husband for so long. Anything could be happening to Sylar - anything - and this very thought made anxiety’s long, icy fingers curl themselves about his throat, just enough to alarm Emil a second time. 

“Sir, your vitals are spiking at an alarming-”

“I’m fine.” Cris cut him off mid-sentence, shaking free of the hologram’s grip. “Leave that and tell Ian to get a shuttle ready. I’m going down there myself.”

“That, Captain, would be irresponsible” Sylar said quietly, as he stepped onto the bridge, cargo still in hand “and somewhat illogical, considering the fact that you are injured.”

Satisfied he’d made his point, Sylar set the box down and made his way over, fully intending to thank Emil for his efforts and take over with Cris' injury, but he never even got there, as the captain pulled him into his arms and kissed him with reckless abandon, all tongue and teeth, firmly intertwining their hands as he did so. 

“Sir-” The Vulcan started dazedly once they broke apart, making Cris tighten his grip on Sylar’s sensitive fingers solely to daze him more.

 _“Por el amor de Dios, viejo, no me dejes tanto tiempo otra vez!”_ The Captain scolded, burying his head in Sylar’s neck for a moment, before he pulled away with a grimace as pain lanced through his injured arm, something which made the Vulcan’s brow furrow in concern.

“Captain, your arm-”

“Damn my arm.”

“I cannot, as it is an essential part of your body.”

“Damn your sexy Vulcan logic then.”

Sylar quirked an amused brow at this, but ran the fingers of his free hand through his husband’s hair for a moment regardless, a silent apology for his lateness.

“Perhaps I should take a look at your injury, sir” He said mildly, trying to ignore the pleasurable sensations in his other hand. “And then I can show you what is in the box.”

“Get on with it then” Cris grumbled, but extended his arm anyway, eyeing his husband with a combination of love and a certain degree of amusement, as he was still holding Sylar’s other hand, not too gently either. 

“Certainly, sir.” 

And he did, experienced fingers working the dermal regenerator over the plasma burns until the skin was no longer charred and disfigured by them, despite the growing lightheadedness he felt from the pressure Cris was still determinedly applying. It was a true mark of how often this very situation had occurred in the past that Sylar did not allow a single sound to pass his lips, even when the captain finally decided to release his hand to allow him to retrieve the box.

“So what is it?” The Captain wanted to know, expecting some sort of bizarre new medical tools, but as Sylar carefully unfastened the lid, Cris was completely taken aback by the contents.

Sylar had just spent an hour on an unfamiliar planet with unfamiliar people and a sun that burned his eyes the entire time just to bring him...Cris blinked, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him, but they clearly were not, as Sylar’s gaze dropped to their intertwined hands, cheeks tinged that same apple green as before.

“I cannot cook for you tommorow, on the traditional day of the birth of Christ” He said in that quiet, queer way of his. “And I could not find one with expert knowledge to teach me the cuisine of your native people in such a short time, so I searched for an expert willing to partake in an exchange from which we could both benefit, and found a small cultural culinary society based on this planet. Though their representative did show far later than we had discussed to meet, they were willing to cook these dishes in exchange for half of the coins we had in our possession during our...adventure...in your Terran 17th century. Do not worry, Captain, your half of the coins remains intact-”

Cris didn’t know when he’d stopped listening, but he did know that he was kissing Sylar again, not with fear and concern and furious passion this time, but with a gentle gratefulness and appreciation, pulling the other man to him tenderly, the love he felt so profound, so deeply ingrained that he was nearly overwhelmed by everything he wanted to say, but when they finally broke apart, only five words left his mouth, five words spoken with so much feeling that they threatened to make tears spring to his eyes as he spoke them.

“Who’s the incurable romantic now?” Was what Cris demanded weakly, and a corner of Sylar’s lips twitched up in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Joder lo que es fácil” - "Fuck what's easy"  
> Por el amor de Dios, viejo, no me dejes tanto tiempo otra vez!” - "For the love of God, old man, don't leave me so long again!"


End file.
